


i'll be yours (take on me)

by bookstvnerdlove



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/bookstvnerdlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he loved to watch her play, the way her arms flexed and strained against her sleeveless t-shirts, the beat of the drums matching those of his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be yours (take on me)

_Monday_

When Liam asked him to set up the recording equipment for his band’s session that evening, Killian had no idea that the course of his life would change so drastically. ( _And if that sounded melodramatic_ , he later thought,  _well then too damn bad. Because it just so happened to be true_.)

Over the years, as Liam became increasingly serious about making it, at least in the local music scene, he had made small changes to their garage until it had transformed - almost completely - into a recording studio. The one problem, the only problem, was that the blasted equipment wasn’t properly set up.

Killian’s engineering degree put to good use before he joined the working world in a month, It took him a solid four hours before he was able to get all of the wires untangled and could actually begin the process of placing them in their proper locations. Not to mention actually testing the microphones and switches and - he wasn’t even sure the accurate terminology for all of the little buttons and gadgets that were stacked along the room.

He should be angry at Liam for shoving this off onto him while he’s supposed to be on vacation. But he can’t help but love every single moment of the task. He’s endlessly fascinated by the inner-workings of everything -- of buildings, of machines, of people.

(Though, clearly, he had some work to do on the reading people front. Given the disaster of Milah last year, he vowed to never let his stupid heart run away with his head again.)

He’s deep into research on his computer regarding the inner workings of amplifiers when he hears a loud bang -- the door to the garage slamming shut so loud that he can’t help but jump -- and then a woman’s voice shouting for his brother.

“Liam? Liam, have you seen my sticks anywhere. I swear, I searched my apartment up and down and…”

Her voice trails off as her gaze finally hits him -- eyes green and bright -- and she continues, voice more guarded than moments before, “Oh. I didn’t see you there. Hi. You’re not Liam.”

He runs his hands through his hair and scratches the back of his ear -- a delightful nervous tic from childhood that he’s yet to leave behind -- and say, “Liam’s brother, Killian. Home for a few days before I start my new job.”

She sticks out her hand and shakes his, firm clasp and strong arms, he can see the tendons in her wrist flex with her movements.

“Emma,” she says, “Emma Swan. Drummer.”

“Well, Emma Swan, drummer,” he nods in the direction of the instruments across the room, “There’s a small black bag over there by the set. I gather that’s what you’re searching for?”

He watches the tension in her face drain, until her lips widen into a broad smile before she stalks over and finds her kit. Stripping her leather jacket, she bends down to unzip her kit and she flexes her arms as she grips the wooden drumsticks, playing a little rhythm in the air before glancing in his direction with a grin.

“Perfect,” she says as she jumps up and he tries not to stare (too much, though he’s no saint) at the way her tight jeans conform to her body as she strides out of the garage.

“I’m going to find your brother. See you around.”

Then she’s gone, long blonde hair flowing behind her, and everything about her imprinted upon his brain.

( _Remember your vow Jones_ , he admonishes himself,  _and get back to work_.)

.

_Tuesday_

She’s early again the next day. Part of him wants to believe that it’s because she found him just as alluring as he finds her, though he knows it’s probably because she works down the street (as Liam had informed him the night before, tending bar for the day crowd at the local dive) and she likes to drop by after her shift so she doesn’t have to cross town to her apartment and head all the way back again. She wears an air of comfort around their place and he wonders just how long she’s been coming by -- stealing food and drink, sharing rare and guarded smiles with his brother.

He asked Liam the night before if there was anything going on between the two of them. His brother merely laughed and replied, “Emma Swan doesn’t date.”

(The way Liam emphasized the word fascinated Killian. It implied she did other things. Delightful things that he lay in bed later that night dreaming about. But he’s not a poacher. Well, he amends, not anymore. Not after Milah and Gold and the disaster that was finding out you’d been having an affair with your professor's wife.)

Just to be sure, he watches them at rehearsal. He notices the way Liam glares at her if she misses a beat, and the way that she rolls her eyes at him when he riffs too long on his guitar solo. And he sighs in relief when he reads no tension between them.

(And if he notices her noticing him watching, he ignores it with a slight flush of embarrassment and he deflects by asking if they’re ready to record the next song.)

When she leaves that night, she shouts, “Bye, Killian,” over the ruckus of Liam and their lead singer having an argument over merits of each member of the Beatles. An argument he’s heard so many times he could recount it word for word on command. His heart kicks an extra beat at the way she says his name, like she  _means_  it.

.

_Wednesday_

The next day when she arrives, the same time as the days before, she doesn’t rush out to find Liam. Instead, she follows him around the garage, peppering him with questions about which button does what and how exactly all the mics work in sync to capture the instruments, and how he filters out the background noise.

He shrugs and tells her that he’s still just learning and he watches as her eyes go wide and she asks, “You’re learning this for your brother, then?”

He shrugs because she makes it sound like he’s some sort of saint, but it’s his brother. There’s likely not much on earth he’d not do for his family.

(And, God, it’s so sad that she finds that devotion so surprising, that her loneliness is right there in her eyes, in the twist to her lips. And he can see it happen, the moment she figures out that he’s read her so well, and he watches the way that she tries to cover her tracks as she looks away. Around the room. Anywhere but his face.)

She doesn’t say goodnight when she leaves, but he can feel her eyes on him, same as they were during the the entire rehearsal.

.

_Thursday_

She plays her drums that night like she’s a demon possesed. He watches, fascinated at the way her arms ripple, the muscles flexing with every beat, every crash of the cymbal.

It’s good. It’s  _really_  good. He thinks that this is their best recording yet. He’s listened all week and he knows, he feels with sudden clarity that she’s got the fire and drive to be a powerful force one day.

(Once she allows herself to let go, to give into it, to whatever  _need_  has built up inside of her.)

It’s four in the morning when they all leave, almost time for the sun to start its climb back up into the sky, having decided in the moment to record all of their songs again. Riding out the powerful wave of whatever was driving all of them.

He’s completely wiped, his brain a mess of emotion and desire for sleep. But it had been pure magic, watching her.

Even though it’s late, he notices that she’s been taking her time, packing the gear she liked to take home with her, fiddling with the zipper of her bag, waiting until they were alone.

It happens so suddenly that he wasn’t prepared for it. The moment Liam left, glancing back at the two of them quickly, some sort of warning in his eyes that goes by unnoticed until he thinks back on the moment later the next day.

She grabs the fabric of his shirt and backs him into the wall, her eyes tired but shining. (And later, he’ll remember that she looked happy, which he’d never seen her do before, but in the moment all he remembers feeling is another little kick to his heartbeat as her lips find his.)

It’s short, but glorious, his lips still tingling as she pulls away, her hair slipping through his fingers as she distentangles their limbs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, a question mark attached to her words. They haven’t discussed anything (he wasn’t sure if there was anything to discuss), but they’re both aware he was supposed to leave town in the morning.

“Yes,” the word tumbles out of his mouth with no forethought, running on pure adrenaline.

“Good,” she replies quietly, voice soft with a new edge of something he hadn’t heard before.

Hope.

.

_Friday_

“You know, brother,” Killian says that evening, after another long session, watching Emma from his usual place. “You know that I don’t have to leave tomorrow. My job doesn’t begin for another three weeks.”

“Ahh, the Jones Brothers live, at least for another few weeks,” Liam jokes, his eyes alight with pleasure, despite the sarcasm in his tone.

“Aye, Liam. The Jones Brothers,” Killian smiles back, sending a short glance towards Emma.

(He’s sure his brother caught on to his look, but no matter. He’d find out soon enough anyway.)

“And maybe featuring a certain blonde drummer.”

There’s no longer a question in his tone when he thinks about her, he notices. With her quick grin and wink, Killian knows that she’s just as  _in it_  as he is. 


End file.
